


Things to unlearn

by CruelisnotMason



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Universe, Character Study, F/F, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Original Character Death(s), Post-War, Rebuilding, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vaginal Fingering, with memories of Keith's father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26797105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CruelisnotMason/pseuds/CruelisnotMason
Summary: “Oh, I told her off,” Romelle says with some anger in her voice. “She doesn’t like that. She’s pretty, intelligent, and got the thickest skull I’ve ever seen.”Krolia snorts. “Sounds like someone I know,” she says, and immediately feels weird for it. It’s not like her to crack jokes like that.Romelle looks at her with wide eyes, then a slight smirk appears on her face. “Oh, you called me pretty and intelligent, then,” she states and ignores the last part completely. “You got it bad for me, right, Krolia?”Krolia regrets everything. This woman isn’t pitiful, she’s eloquent, intelligent, and a menace. “You forgot the thick skull,” she says, and her easy smile from before completely vanishes from her face.
Relationships: Krolia/Romelle (Voltron)
Kudos: 6





	Things to unlearn

**Author's Note:**

> I just really felt like writing some Kromelle. Today was a good day.

  
Krolia liked to call herself a realist, even though the people close to her loved to correct her, saying she was and always had been a pessimist. 

Expecting the end of the war against the Empire to never come was something deeply realistic, not pessimistic, Krolia used to think, because she was someone who had lost too much to still have hope. 

Krolia, the realist she was, didn't hope to see Keith or his father again once she left them. Not even in case the impossible happened and the Empire was finally gone. The only thing she still harbored some naivity for was the hope for the Galra to avoid Earth, and Earth and her loved ones to never fall to the Empire's hands. 

When she heard about Tex' death, one part of her succumbed to feeling numbness, and as if she could have expected him gone by the time she'd meet the impossible and find her son, void filled the space where surprise should have been. 

Krolia had failed to protect them. She failed her loved ones. 

The waking heartbreak continued to be mostly numb— it's been years since her pod crashed into the middle of Earth's dry nothingness, ironically the blue planet when all around her she found desert the moment she arrived. 

Years passed since she fell for another soul in this complicated universe, those two years which taught her that life did not equal struggle but contained plain gentleness and love, too. 

She never worried about forgetting, but dreaded the day she'd wake up and forget what her lover had looked like.

It was a small reassurance to look at her son's face and recognize both herself and him in his features, in his softness, in his sharp lines, in his prickly character and his tender side. 

Who do you think gave him what? Krolia sent the thought to Tex, who's essence might be with her still, waking. Or maybe he was watching her from Earth's heaven, or another of its spiritual realms. 

"Mom, are you alright?" Keith asks her gently, and Krolia gives him a measured look. She has settled on Earth to help undo what the occupation did to the planet she lived on once without really seeing much of it. Maybe she also stayed because it reminds her of other times, and for once she allows herself to be sentimental like that.

She knows her son is concerned when her mind trails off like this, because it's so unusual for her. But nowadays… she just has so much time to think. 

"Don't worry," she reassures him briefly, and can tell from her son's expression that he isn't satisfied with that 'answer'. 

She reaches out to touch his cheek and looks him in the eye– admires that his father gave him them and how they yet look different, just like… 

his own. 

"You know I won't," Keith counters, not to her surprise. She knows he's a compassionate young man. 

He's her son after all. 

Krolia hums shortly and sends him off, says she's got things to do still and they should meet and hunt dinner together another time. Keith accepts, not without offering to go grocery shopping for her instead. It will be the last time for a while, so she's happy to accept.

Half a year passes and there are still things to do.

_Krolia_ still has some things to do. There's a local project she helps out that builds shelter for those who've lost their homes in the occupation, there is the base with the Alteans she goes visit to assist with their future plans of finding a new home and a sense on Earth first. 

The shelters she helps build is sturdy, but nothing compared to other homes on Earth. Krolia nods when another helper sighs and points out that it's barely enough, that they need to come back to install a water and electricity system. Krolia thinks of having lived in the shoeboxes in her own ship for a few months now, but accepts that the other helper, a person from Olkarion, is absolutely right. This is the bare minimum, and these people need more. 

At the (clumsily called) _Altean station_ a few hours later, Krolia meets the head of the colony, and the Altean Princess, greets them both with a nod and stays in the background of the conference room just to throw in some much needed advice now and then. 

"Krolia?" says a soft voice a little later, when she’s on a break and on her way to the snack room. Krolia stops immediately, and slowly turns around.

Someone she hasn’t contacted in months is standing right before her. Krolia recognizes her immediately, even though she has changed profoundly. Not enough to not know it is her. 

The first thing obvious to Krolia’s blinking eyes is, that the white Altean's hair has been cut off significantly, her length comparable, if not shorter, to Keith’s hair.

"Oh," Krolia utters, but doesn’t let the surprise to see Romelle here show on her face. It’s not that Krolia cares particularly about haircuts, nothing is really less interesting to her. But… just like Allura, Romelle always seemed to fancy the traditionally long worn hair, and Krolia wonders what brought the change.

“Funny to meet you here,” Romelle says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Krolia isn’t bad at reading people, she’s sometimes extraordinarily at it. And she wishes she wasn’t. She could have feigned low ignorance about Kolivan’s feelings back then, and not be as awkward to know that she would be unable to return his feelings. She told him back then it was because of… but what does it matter now—

“You could have called,” Romelle says then, and Krolia’s eyes widen.

“Oh,” she says again, takes out her datapad and holds it out for Romelle to scan the contact code. “Here. I didn’t know how.”

Romelle scans the code and saves it to her contact list. “Would you have called?” she asks sheepishly, and Krolia knows she’s caught.

Lying isn’t her thing, especially not to Romelle, who she has no bounds with. “No,” she says simply.

Romelle laughs. “Yeah, I figured.”

Krolia has a few questions, but she’s used to not inquiring further; used to not care about people beyond their name and sometimes not even that. But the time where she and the other Blades hid in the shadows are over, and the time has come to unlearn the training that made her whole once.

Something in Krolia shields her from the obvious disappointment in Romelle’s eyes, the soft- and numbness in her eyes. A part in her that learned not to fall for a pitiful person or being.

“Well,” Romelle says after a moment, almost half-turned already. “I got to go back. You don’t need to call this time around either.”

Krolia holds up one hand for a wave goodbye that Romelle won’t see, and stares at the blonde’s strong back dressed in Earth clothing until she disappears around the corner.

Romelle is right, she doesn’t need to call her this time around either. There’s no bond between a savior and the person they saved, and even though they spent some time on a ship together, it doesn’t mean anything, really.

Krolia doesn’t call for a while, but one day she sends a message. 

She did it because it's time to unlearn something that worked for her well for some time, she tells herself, and not that it’s the actual pity she feels for the Altean.

She’s surprised Romelle writes back and asks to get together to eat. And only a day later, they meet in Krolia’s dead mate's shack to cook together. Technically, Keith told her to use it, but she never does when she’s on her own.

“You are lonely,“ Romelle greets her, not without a sly grin. “Keith being gone for this year, and everything?”

Krolia doesn’t really smile when she nods. “Got me,” she lies and lets her in.

Romelle doesn’t have a lot, just a bag with groceries that Hunk wrote down for her. She explains swiftly that she never cooks for herself, and even though she learned under Hunk— who’s the best, according to Romelle’s words— she doesn’t have the talent or training to simply cook on her own when faced with unfamiliar ingredients.

“Now, neither do I,” Krolia says and cocks an eyebrow. The impossible happens and they both start laughing, standing in a kitchen they don’t know how to use, with a bunch of ingredients with unknown taste.

“Let’s call Keith, shall we?” Romelle suggests and before Krolia can stop her, she pulls out a datapad and scrolls through her contact. Krolia doesn’t have the heart to confess that she doesn’t call her son often because she doesn’t involve too much of herself in his life, when really, she should know that he loves and needs her. She’s just— there are things to unlearn.

“Keith, have you eaten properly?” Is the first question Romelle asks, as if she was his mother, not Krolia. Krolia can’t help her mouth curling into a toothy smile when Keith coughs and promises he did. 

When they ask him about the Earth ingredients, he sets the datapad down and smiles softly. Krolia feels warm pride at her son’s handsome and content face, while he shares what he knows with them.

The food they fabricate two hours later isn’t… exactly working, but tastes good enough to fill their stomachs with. At least with a glass of wine it becomes somewhat edible.

“So that’s where you three lived?” Romelle asks when they sit on a bench on the porch. “You, Keith’s dad and little baby Keith?” 

Krolia puts her glass down, pulls her legs toward her body, puts her chin on her knee. “Yes,” she says with closed eyes and a private smile. Usually, he cannot bear the memories that resurface. Today, she can. 

They are short, never thought until the end. Glimpses of Keith as a baby that she almost forgot about, and his dad holding him. The face is almost gone completely, but Krolia doesn’t allow herself to get sad about it.

Neither does Romelle. “I bet he shat like a horse,” she says and Krolia raises her head.

“What?”

“Your son,” Romelle clarifies, barely able to hide her grin. “I bet he shat a lot. He’s a shitter.”

“Hey,” Krolia protests at first. Then she laughs. “He really did. Babies tend to.”

“Did you want to have kids?” Romelle asks her then, tone immediately changing. It’s a trait of her— always happy until she’s suddenly not— always deep in thought until she’s suddenly not— never able to stick to one mood.

Krolia thinks more about that then Romelle’s initial question. “I don’t know. I never thought I’d be able to live a life where I could.”

“Ah,” Romelle replies, one arm slumped over the armrest. “I see.”

Krolia isn’t the best at bonding, but she tries for now. “You?”

“Oh no,” Romelle laughs as if it was out of place to ask her of all people. “Don’t be silly.”

In her mind, Krolia creates an image of the Altean with a child that looks like her. It doesn’t seem strange to her in the way that Romelle tries to make her think it is. She knows Romelle sometimes plays with the kids from the colony and cares for them, even though every last person, including them, did not believe her and mocked her for having doubts. Back then, at least.

“It’s just, you know. Bandor died,” Romelle says with an easy tone. “If I do not plan on having a family, that family cannot die.”

Krolia falls quiet. She cannot think of a reality where she wouldn’t have wanted to meet Keith’s dad, or to have Keith, even when it meant giving up on them. It hurt, but there was happiness too.

Before she knows it, Romelle shuffles into her side, leans a head on Krolia’s shoulder. It’s a familiar intimacy that they’ve never shared, and she’s perplexed they do now all of a sudden—

“I do not get love, anyway,” Romelle breathes against Krolia’s cheek. The Galra doesn’t move, but she’s tense; it’s been so long since there was another being so close to her, and even when it was, it was just Keith, her son. Someone she yearned to hug and tell him she loves him. 

Now, she’s practically got a young woman draped over her, and is completely unsure what to do.

And all of a sudden, she realizes Romelle was right. Krolia feels lonely. The memories of the shack, the phone call today. All of it makes her lonely.

“You can only lose something if you invest something,” she says after a while, when the night sky engulfs them both, and only her short fur keeps her from freezing, “but what is a life without investment, or taking a risk?”

She knows Romelle is struggling against those words, defending herself inwardly, without a word. The Altean raises her head and shuffles away oh so slightly, to put some distance between them.

“Spoken like a true Blade,” she laughs, but to Krolia’s ears, she sounds sad.

There’s nothing that holds the two of them together, Krolia assumes and doesn’t call anymore; but there’s only so much work she can do on this planet until she’s out of energy and needs to do something for herself too, so when Romelle sends her a message, she agrees to meeting her.

She doesn’t know what Romelle sees in her; maybe a mother figure, Krolia thinks and something in her refuses to accept that thought.

Romelle does have other friends, Krolia thinks. She knows she keeps in very loose contact with Keith and Shiro, and that there’s the Altean princess she meets at the Altean station. From Keith— Krolia called him in between, trying to forget her worry that she takes too much space in his life— she knows that Romelle is friends with Veronica, the loud one’s sister and her girlfriend, one of the new Blade recruits. 

She doesn’t know how good, though.

“Allura?” Romelle says surprised when they wander through several stands of the night market that appeared off city center. She got her hands on a soft clothing item, but without much interest in her eyes. “Oh, I think she hates me.”

“What?” Krolia asks, surprised. “Why?” She herself eyes the items on the clothing racks. She doesn’t hate the clothing on Earth, but prefers whatever she has from the Blades by lengths. 

“Oh, I told her off,” Romelle says with some anger in her voice. “She doesn’t like that. She’s pretty, intelligent, and got the thickest skull I’ve ever seen.”

Krolia snorts. “Sounds like someone I know,” she says, and immediately feels weird for it. It’s not like her to crack jokes like that.

Romelle looks at her with wide eyes, then a slight smirk appears on her face. “Oh, you called me pretty and intelligent, then,” she states and ignores the last part completely. “You got it bad for me, right, Krolia?”

Krolia regrets everything. This woman isn’t pitiful, she’s eloquent, intelligent, and a menace. “You forgot the thick skull,” she says, and her easy smile from before completely vanishes from her face.

“Ah yes,” Romelle nods. “Thick.” She pulls another clothing item out, now with a little more interest. It’s a pair of tight pants and Krolia hopes it’s just a coincidence. When Romelle waves at someone to make the purchase, she’s not entirely sure anymore.

Krolia is sure, they won’t meet up after that; sure that this will stay a once in awhile thing without much interest from both sides. It’s something to pass the time until there will come a new place to stay and to find work with. But she goes diligently to the meetings, without really knowing why.

“You spend a lot of time with Romelle lately,” Keith mentions in a phone call, curiousness readable as if it was written across his face. Krolia dreads any conversation about the Altean, especially because… simply nothing about Romelle and her makes sense. 

“Some time,” Krolia corrects and leaves out that currently, Romelle is contact on top of all her chat logs. And Krolia hates chatting.

“She told me she’ll be my new dad, the other time,” Keith says, watching as Krolia’s eyebrows draw deep into her face. She curses Galran under her breath, happy that Keith won’t understand that—

“Mom!” He is scandalized. “I understood that!”

“She’s just—“ she tries to explain and stops. It’s not worth the anger— that’s not Krolia, she’s never riled up like this—

“Nevermind,” she concludes and her face softens. “How is your work?”

Keith watches her intently before he sighs and drops the topic. “It’s been good,” he starts, “yesterday—“

Krolia tries to take it as one of Romelle’s jokes, and yet…

She thinks too much about it.

It’s clear that Keith doesn’t need a new dad, that it’s bad humor at best, and maybe that there was not any intent to it. Krolia declines Romelle’s invitation on another day, out of pure spite, and gets it back when Romelle sends a picture of her overly sad face— where she still managed to put in a quarter of a smirk.

Krolia really doesn’t know why she’s agreeing to see Romelle the day after, but the idea of seeing where the Altean lives wakes some interest in her.

Romelle wears the tight pants she bought on the night market the other day, and oh, Krolia is suffering. She’s not a teen anymore, but there she is, standing in the shared flat of Romelle and her Galran friend— away on a Blades mission— unsure what to do with her hands.

Kromelle is getting out a pan from under the sink, and she’s struggling far too long for it to be not intentionally. 

“I won’t look at your ass,” Krolia says after a while, and finally, Romelle comes up from under the sink, pan in her hand. 

“Your loss, Mylady,” Romelle replies with a shrug, puts the pan on the stove, with some oil and vegetables. She looks like she got it all figured out. 

“You’re not actually bad at cooking with Earth ingredients,” Krolia realizes, and thinks she’s a miserable Blade for not noticing earlier. “Why—“

“You wouldn’t call your _son_. He did not tell me, but I knew he missed you.” Romelle comes clean at once, and she doesn’t look like she regrets lying to Krolia the least.

Anger boils in Krolia’s middle, wrecking havoc, but she wills it to boil down to… have a conversation.

“This has to stop,” she mutters and comes closer. “I do not appreciate being lied to like this.”

Romelle turns away, shoving the vegetables around in the pan. “Come on. Would you have called him if I didn’t—“

“It does not matter,” Krolia interrupts her. “I do not appreciate dishonesty, Romelle.” Krolia stares at the back of her head, watches the stirring pause at once.

“I do not either,” Romelle says slowly. “You can go. I do not know why you put up with me, except for your low pity for a girl that needed saving. I do not need it anymore, no thank you.”

“You really want me to go?” Krolia asks then, hand digging into her side without her noticing. 

“Yes,” Romelle says coldly, and resumes stirring. 

And so Krolia does.

There’s no outside force interested in getting them back on better turns, so Krolia hides away in her spaceship, does her work, and stops looking for messages on her datapad. She calls her son diligently so, even though Romelle’s words always echo uncomfortably in her head when she even thinks about it. 

Krolia is too old for this, she thinks. It’s been years since she was actually invested in another person, and now there’s not really anyone but her son who she wants a strong connection with. Romelle, she’s strong on her own. 

_She specifically told her so_ , Krolia thinks stubbornly and feels a relief over finally being over all the guessing games with her.

But then Romelle appears in front of her ship one day, tight-lipped apology spilling from her mouth. She looks remorseful, horrible even, and Krolia cannot do a lot but forgive her.

“You don’t need to,” Romelle says stubbornly, but Krolia shakes her head. “Who says I won’t do something idiotic again?”

“I told you, life’s not worth without taking a risk” she replies, with a smile. “But you have to invest too. I don’t have endless chances to give.”

When Romelle nods, Krolia feels an even greater relief than when she thought they cut ties. She leaves the ship’s hatch open for Romelle to follow her, and smiles when the blonde does.

The good thing about the incident is, that Romelle keeps the lies at bay— or when she lies, she corrects herself immediately after. Krolia continuously takes her up on her promise, and when Romelle says she’s fine on days she’s not, Krolia will cross her legs and fold her arms in front of her, and wait until she spills what’s wrong.

In the back of her mind Krolia notes that Romelle doesn’t wear the tight pants that she bought from the night market around her anymore, and curses herself the next moment when she realizes herself. That doesn’t have to do with anything, Krolia berates herself and takes one of the alcoholic beverages that her mate used to have at home out of her staple. It tastes bitter and makes her only a little dizzy, and sadly not enough to forget Romelle’s ass in those tight pants.

Romelle stays true to her words, and away from any direction that Krolia could possibly misread. Keith stops asking if everything is okay between his mom and Romelle when he calls one evening, and Krolia remembers too late the Altean sleeping soundly against her side when she takes it.

She is used to it now, the ever-present sun next to her, and she feels content just like that. Romelle takes what she can get from her, and Krolia gives it more easily than before. It doesn’t matter anymore if they have anything in common or not, if they are family or not. Krolia feels a sense of pride in her when she looks at the sky now, and hopes her former mate is proud of her too; for reconnecting with her son, with fighting for what she thinks is right, for living a life she could not allow herself before. 

Feeling content with each other doesn’t change the fact that Krolia reads something in the Altean’s eyes that wasn’t there before, and starts wondering about it more often than not. 

She’s not blind, nor dumb, nor emotionally inexperienced. She knows what it means. But it doesn’t make it any easier for her to figure out for herself if she returns the sentiment.

One night she feels brave and exploring that part of her— and that alone means something, she knows— when she leans closer in the middle of watching a movie— an activity Krolia never really liked that much, feeling too antsy to sit still, really— and Romelle’s eyes widen, and she—

...leans _away_.

“Oh,” Krolia utters and mimics her, looks at her, waiting.

“ _Oh_ ,” Romelle breathes. 

For more than a moment they both sit and wait. Then Romelle leans forward again.

“Oh,” Krolia says again and stops her with her hands. “No, you don’t have to—“

“But you wanted to, right?” Romelle tilts her head, then closes her eyes again, as if to press forward, and… Krolia stops her again.

“Okay,” Romelle says with a troubled expression, folds her arms in front of her chest and looks back at the screen. 

I misread, Krolia thinks with slight embarrassment and folds her hands in her lap. 

“I don’t get you,” Romelle mutters. “You want to kiss me, then kiss me.”

“You need to want that, too,” Krolia sighs. “I won’t just. Do the things I want to do.”

“Maybe I want it? As I said, I don’t really get love," she repeats it, and Krolia wonders if it's her own personal mantra.

But she doesn't care. “No thank you, then.” she says, voice swinging. For once, she’s able to concentrate on a movie better than on anything going on around her, even if it’s just to forget this situation.

“No,” Romelle says, unwilling to drop it. “I think I want to.”

Krolia’s uncertain, and she pulls back. “That’s not enough,” she says with some sense of responsibility.

“I want to kiss you, Krolia,” Romelle insists now, and Krolia knows there’s no winning with her. She leans forward to give her a peck, if only to shut her up and make her realize that there isn’t anything. 

But Romelle holds her in place.

During all the time with her, Krolia wouldn’t have anticipated the spark of electricity that runs through her body as soon as she feels Romelle’s lips on her. Despite her small frame, she’s got Galran strength, and with the way she’s holding Krolia, she’s not holding back on it the least. Against all expectations, it hits Krolia like a train.

The clash of lips, the shared hum between them, Krolia’s hands in her hair and Romelle’s hands against her chest— it all lures her into the feeling of drowning and waking at once, and before she realizes it, Romelle is in her lap, pressing up against her. It’s fast, but not unwelcome; not anything really led up to this, even though Krolia admits she could have seen it coming; Romelle’s jokes, Krolia’s unwillingness to let go— it wasn’t motivated, it wasn’t pure loneliness, but… what was it in the end?

It’s not the first time she’s doing this— Krolia wouldn’t have expected it to be— but she’s still surprised how assertive the Altean feels when she’s flicking her tongue against Krolia’s lips and kisses her deep, with a hunger Krolia hasn’t known for a while, but only wants to reciprocate. 

Krolia suddenly feels far more inexperienced, with her last relationship lying back what feels like a hundred years; but she’s not impassive, far from it.

Her hands round that gorgeous ass in her lap, squeeze it until it makes Romelle moan and stutter into her mouth. 

“Maybe I do get it a little, now,” Romelle whispers against Krolia’s lips, and ducks down to place kisses on her temple, quick, breathless pecks until she finds her lips again and takes them, takes Krolia’s hand and places it against her own chest, groping.

“Fuck me,” she mutters despertately into the Galra’s soft ear and bites there, and Krolia, completely out of breath feels the dizziness corrupt her brain.

It doesn’t have much finesse, the way Krolia turns with Romelle on her lap, hikes her up against the seat, fingers digging into the black pair of tight leggings searching for something, and finding an unexpected pool of wetness, or the way Krolia sinks and curls her fingers into the welcoming heat, making Romelle moan and bend, or the way she makes her come by fucking into her while running her thumb in circles around her clit, or how she kisses the moans off her lips. 

But it’s delicate, the way Romelle sighs against her, a few minutes later, worn and satisfied, with a smile so wide and earnest on her face that Krolia can feel her own heart jump at the sight, or that she presses close now, still slightly shuddering from the earlier orgasm she rode out on Krolia’s fingers, or the way in which she kisses Krolia so softly that it makes the Galra purr.

“I think I get it now,” Romelle says, nestled into Krolia’s strong arms.

Krolia is a pessimist, a realist at best. That’s why she never saw this coming. But falling asleep with Romelle cuddling into her side, makes her realize that she can hope for more than a calculated future. 

“Me too,” Krolia growls, eyes fluttering shut. The bubbling laughter that comes from the half-asleep Altean makes her smile. “Me too,” she mutters again.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you’re into Voltron rarepairs, check out [this discord](https://discord.gg/ZN5eNYH)!


End file.
